I'm probably going to be updating my links this weekend, so if I owe you one, please drop me a note. Also, let me know if you prefer to be shown by your own name or by the name of your site. For instance, if I've got you listed as "Dawson", and you'd rather it be "Ann Coulter's Studly Love Slave", I'll be happy to make any changes.
This updating, of course, will depend entirely on how well I am able to procrastinate on tackling the massive heap of laundry that's waiting for me at home, which can now officially be classified as a medieval torture device:
"For crimes against the king, I sentence you to crawl through that pile."
"Please...the rack...hot oil...fire...anything but the pile!"
Wills baby, when are you going to come out of hiding? You haven’t posted anything in months. Everybody knows you don’t have much of a real job these days. Is Ffion keeping you too busy for us? Come back!
Mr [John] White, a former member of the now defunct Ulster Democratic Party, said Adair had always said he would not enter politics but after considerable encouragement he was considering what he could do to help his native area of the Shankill Road in west Belfast.
After it became clear to Mr. Adair that killing people and blowing stuff up wasn't really helping much, he's become willing, encouraged by the success of a number of Sinn Fein candidates, to pretend to abandon his terrorist past and use legitimate political means for intimidating others.*
So Anne Robinson, some mean, crusty bitch from some worthlesstelevision program apparently went off on the Welsh , saying "They are always so pleased with themselves. I've never taken to them. What are they for?"
I'm not Welsh, but my great-grandparents were, so, on their behalf, Anne, if you would kindly step over here, I'll be glad to show you. Just give me a couple of minutes to sharpen a few things up.
For the most fanatical of Elvis Presley’s admirers, the looming 25th anniversary of his death presents something of a dilemma: how to commemorate an event you do not believe has occurred.
Look people, don’t be dumb. Elvis is dead, okay? If the man was going to fake his own death, I’d suspect he’d fake it something cool, like passing in his sleep while clutching the Bible and a picture of his mamma. He wouldn’t leave the papers reading “slipped off the crapper with his pants around his ankles after his heart exploded in a freak pill-popping related accident”. I mean, would you fake your own death like that?
So, this raises two interesting questions:
1) if you were to fake your own death, how would you do it?
2) does this qualify as “writing about music” for Eric Olsen? If so, where’s my free CDs?
If I come out more half-witted than usual today, it's because a certain someoneorsomething kept me up half of the night being so goddamm interesting. The only thing that can cure only 15 minutes of sleep are methamphetamines, and my crack dealer is on vacation. I'm screwed.
CNN reports that "Two-thirds of kids surveyed said they had been teased or gossiped about in a mean way in the past month." What did they expect? Children in general, and teenagers in particular, are heartless, uncivilized fuckers. This is news? Didn't anybody important die today?
Twelve percent of the kids surveyed had been bullied five times or more in the past month. And 23 percent admitted they had bullied someone else.
It seems I've upset a few people by posting a link to small little Lego figures engaged in x-rated activitivies. It wasn't my intention to offend anyone with the link, I just posted it up for a laugh. So for those of you who were in anyway hurt, I'd like to offer you a very sincere fuck off. Dudes, I did not deceive you. The link clearly says "porn". It's not like I wrote "Hey! Gather up the kiddies and look at nice pictures of the creative things that you can do with play blocks."
For your further enjoyment, I would like to direct you to Furniture Porn and Gummy Porn, both recommended by that special freak, Juan Gato.
Brought to you by the Center For People Who Are Sick To Death Of The Easily Offended
DUP leader Ian Paisley was today challenging Tony Blair over the Government's "failure" to impose immediate new sanctions on paramilitaries.
The Prime Minister, in retort, challenged Dr. Paisley on his "failure" to stop being such an enormous asshole.*
A DUP delegation was expected at Downing Street around lunchtime to voice concern over increasing street violence and interface unrest.
The delegation contended that the recent violence has not yet reached an acceptable level, and met with Tony Blair in hopes of vacillating and antagonizing the movement backward in the peace process.*
The meeting came as a Government minister told DUP deputy leader Peter Robinson there was no doubt recent violence captured on a video tape in east Belfast had "emanated" from the Short Strand area.
But local SF councillor Joe O'Donnell said today he questioned any statement that violence had emanated from the Short Strand when the recent outbreak from May after a period of relative quiet had come from loyalists.
The deputy leader responded to Mr. O'Donnell's question briefly, replying "Well, who cares what that stupid poopey-headed poof thinks anyway?"*
*the writer of this blog has taken certain liberties with the text of the original article, but has only done so in the firm belief that not one altered word is untrue.
Peter Briffa is back from vacation, modestly commenting on his "gorgeous tan", "fabulous physique", and the shocking news that Alan Duncan is gay. Welcome him back by going over and telling him that reality shows are stupid and are linked to the rise in a number of deadly diseases.
There are three really important things that one should never mix with alcohol: automobiles, credit cards, and the internet.
Automobiles: pretty obvious. Death, injury, and the next thing you know, the drummer for Def Leppard is missing an arm. Credit cards, and it's all like looking at the receipts the morning after fun at the Troubador, and wondering how it is that you spent $145.00 on cocktails without having to have your stomach pumped. Go online, and you wind up sending weird e-mails to the editor of the Portadown News that read "So what is it exactly that you're trying to say? I mean, Lurgan smells just fine from here."
Any combination of the three can result in acts of mortal stupidity. For instance, credit cards plus the internet plus alcohol: Lord Have Mercy. You've woken to find an e-mail in your inbox congratulating you for being the winner of the e-bay auction and are now the proud owner of a "Battlestar Gallactica" lunch box, which you've purchased for the bargain price of $28.00.